previously:

They dive into the photos, noting the Top Secret – No Forn stamps on the back of each image in bold red lettering and glance at each other for a moment.

A few minutes later, our new Captain comes over and asks me where they can find notepads and pencils. I loan her a pencil and hand her a req form and tell her to fill out a requisition for whatever they need, then it goes through channels. She rolls her eyes but takes the form and the pencil.

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Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Wed, 2008/11/19 - 12:51am., Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chapter 23 is revised and reposted on Fri, 2009/12/25 - 11:33 AM. ~Sephrena

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Photo Interpretation — What’s that something at which you’re pointing?:

 

Chapter 23

 

About 1030, we receive an update in the form of more Intel, photos and a report of several small enemy attacks. The photos are quickly distributed for analysis. By 1100 Captain Donna has corralled Major Karen and they both converge on me.

“Colonel, we have a problem.”

They show me the photos and their interpretations, then they grab the photos from yesterday at the same spot. I don’t see the difference, but Donna says it’s obvious.

Come over the scope and look. I do and still see nothing. She takes the time to be patient and walks me slowly through the photograph where I wind up looking at a something. Now the new photo. The something now has six small circles near it.

She shows me eight more somethings, all with little circles.

I admit that I see nine somethings with six small circles each.

“Colonel, those are anti-aircraft missiles. They’re doing something there, and they intend to shoot down anything that might prevent it.”

“Prepare a flash message and reference the photos for yesterday and today and the coordinates,” I tell her. “Saigon has to have seen this, but we’ll let them know anyway.”

Within fifteen minutes, the flash goes out.

Captain Donna comes over and salutes me, as I look at her with a question framed on my face, ‘What’s this all about?’

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t think this was for real. This is a school for cripes sake. But those photos couldn’t be faked or, if they are, then they’re really, really good ones. We really are sending traffic to Saigon, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Captain, we are. Think of this as the ultimate final for your course. We’re playing in the big leagues and with real lives on the line. That was good work, by the way. We may not get a reply until tomorrow but, even if their people figured it out, so did we. Congratulations, Captain.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Ma’am, I think part of my problem was Spooky, I mean Karen. She and I have been at odds since we got here. After today, I think we have a lot more in common. Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it, Captain. Oh, by the way, I already told the other officers, so I’ll tell you. Just because you have the rank on your sleeve doesn’t mean you’re allowed to eat in the Officer’s mess.” I give her a grin.

She returns my grin, then hurries back to her photos.

-o~O~o-

We’ve discovered that the group member who suggested the pincer attack is our best tactician, and he forms the nucleus of our small tactical department as we dig around through the students out in the main school for a couple of others who are likewise talented. That meant another Captaincy, for ‘Skirmish,’ as the team begins to call him.

-o~O~o-

We are now into our fourth day and have once again grown by four more. These too were brought in from the outside world of students, now becoming professional soldiers, and took us in another direction, signals analysis. This latest growth came about because of an unexpected request, which dropped on us from straight out of the blue.

Some office in D.C. had sent us a message requesting cryptographic assistance with a coded message, see enclosure. We’re looking at this and scratching our heads. They obviously have us confused with some other group. We sent back a message asking for clarification of the request. One of the specialists in our Intel group tells his Captain that he knows of a couple of guys in another barrack who are really good at figuring out secret or coded messages so we might give them a crack at it. They do, and we discover after a day and a half that it’s a hand-coded message in a language we suspect to be Czech.

None of us reads this, of course, but we sent our partial decode back to the initiating agency, which had, for some reason, failed to reply to our request for clarification concerning their original request for decoding of the cryptograph they sent to us. Don’t you just love bureaucracy?

We don’t hear any more about the message, or our potential answer, until the second week of our existence.

-o~O~o-

Our quiet existence has been shattered. Our secret is out, and we have students from all over the school asking my officers if there’s anything they could do to help. No one knows that we are actually sending and receiving traffic with Saigon. They apparently think it’s some sort of super exercise, a military game which is designed to mimic reality, but they all want to play.

We’ve reached the point where we need to have two MPs at each door and I’ve had special IDs made up, which are worn by our personnel so the MPs allow them through but halt others. The couriers and message handlers also have IDs, so our Intel makes it in past the doors on time. As we’ve just initiated our last week, and there are so many people around, we’re getting a little more formal and I’m wearing my uniform again, fortunately for me.

Things have snowballed and we’re moving along at an unbelievable pace. If we weren’t going to shut down at the end of this week, I’d consider adding a second shift. Our meals are served to us whenever we can find the time and, if we miss the mess hour, then they send our meals here. It helps to have a two star on your side.

During the past seven days we’ve spotted only three things which were missed in Saigon. Two of those were the SAM missile launchers and whatever it was that they were protecting, and the other was our suspected troop concentration. Memory wins out again. We’ve made the same recommendations as Saigon did, except for two where ours was adopted over the local group. We made bad calls in a couple of cases, but our errors were mitigated by a relative lack of Intel, some of which the Saigon group received and we did not.

We are into Monday afternoon when there’s a bit of noise at one door and I figure it’s students trying to get through the MPs again. The noise continues, so I pop out the other door to see what’s going on. I find myself face to face down the hall with two generals, neither of whom I know. I salute them and begin my interrogation to determine what they are doing here. From what I piece together, they’ve been looking for us for three or four days.

“Well, Sir, we are a rather secret group and this was the best we could do at hiding. We were created for a two week operation which is to end Friday.”

They don’t seem to be very interested in our short term goal, nor in the possibility of our disbanding. They are interested in seeing the operation. Neither of them outranks General George, so I use him as our ace in the hole, denying them access.

“George? George knows about this?”

“Yes, Sir. You might say he founded this group. They spent four weeks preparing for this operation and it commenced Monday last week and is due to end this coming Friday.”

“I’m going to talk with him, Colonel. We’ll be back.”

“Yes, Sir. If he okays it, I would be pleased to show you our operation, Sir. Thank you for dropping by.”

They storm down the hall and somehow I don’t think I’ve heard the end of this. I turn and thank the MPs for their diligence at keeping two Generals at bay and then return to the room. Ten minutes later, I decide maybe we should have better IDs which not only look more realistic but have our photos on them. I call down for some more support and tell them about my problem.

They send up someone with information about IDs and their purpose and look.

How he made it through the MPs I have no idea but they didn’t even slow him down. I guess they just wanted to play with the Generals.

-o~O~o-

I made a mistake, a BIG mistake. I allowed my needs to remain a little too vague, and then let my support group have too much freedom, so they ran with it. They started the day of my request by taking photos of everyone, including the MPs, and when we arrive the next morning we find we now have a unit crest above each door and little badges made up like the crest, which they give to everyone to hang from our pockets. Each of my little groups has a slightly different rainbow stripe on their new IDs to indicate the nature of the work they’re performing.

The security clearance of each individual is shown on their ID in the form of small but obvious stripes of colour code, together with their photo, just as I’d requested, but so is everything else under the sun. The MPs have their own IDs with colours and photos and they too have our crest added as a hanging shield below their ID on their shirt pockets. The officers have a basic colour for their badges which indicates their rank, visible at a distance. If the rank they are wearing doesn’t match the colour on the ID, they’re denied entry.

Our lab doors are now electronically locked and keyed to our IDs, and we’ve gone from a motley organization of students to the crisp military look of a real unit, appropriate for some grand scheme which I sincerely hope won’t get us all court martialed. I’m looking at our new tags, wondering where I went wrong, just about the time the Generals show up again, this time with General George leading the way.

Now I know I’m in for it.

I warn them that we are operating with an extreme deadline, having just received some new Intel which has thrown our previous conclusions out the window like tossing a candy wrapper into a trash basket. I’m willing to take them around and explain the operation, but I cannot halt it, since Saigon is waiting for our reply on this. I clear them with the MPs who give them visitors badges (see what I mean? I didn’t know anything about that either), and one of the MPs follows us inside.

Karen calls attention (bless her) and General George immediately tells everyone to “carry on working as though we aren’t here,” like our operation is old hat to him.

I begin my public relations spiel, wondering if I even know what’s going on. We make it through each of the small departments and pause while they look over the shoulders of our cryptographers — who fortunately had the presence of mind to put away their crosswords and pull out something which at least looks to me like they’re doing something productive.

One of the Generals asks if he may interrupt them for a few minutes. I attract Cypher’s attention and introduce the General to him. The General produces a copy of that decoded message we sent back last week and asks about it.

Cypher says, “Yes, Sir, that was our work. We couldn’t translate the language, because we have no linguistics group, but we decoded the message into that piece of paper you’re holding. Is there a problem, Sir?”

The General looks at them like he’s skeptical, but then finally reaches into a pocket and pulls out a similar message which appears to be in the same language, “How long would it take to code this message into the code which you broke while decoding the other message?”

“I’m not certain we can do that, Sir. The code appeared to be time sensitive, and the settings of the code change with the time and date, so the code which was correct for the message we decoded would not necessarily be correct for today.”

At this moment, Prue sings out, “1400! Your primaries are needed.”

The general takes that moment to digest Cypher’s statement.

“If this message was given the same date time code, could you encode it?”

“Certainly, Sir. Whoever receives it would suspect that it was a forgery since so much time elapsed between the coding and the receipt of the message but using the same date code we could do it.”

“How long will it take?”

Cypher looks at it, “Maybe thirty or forty minutes, Sir. We still have our notes from last week, so it won’t take too long. Worst case…, an hour and a half.”

“Do it,” he says.

The captain looks at me and I nod my head up and down and say, “Take the time, Captain. We can afford that much,” as the general’s eyes turn to watch my reaction and answer.

Taking the paper with the message on it, our Captain sends one of the men to, “Retrieve the file for the decode we made for them last week.”

The young man hurries over to one of the filing cabinets and pretends to rummage around in it, checking first one drawer then going to another and finally returning with a folder which they created to hold the documents for the decode from last week. We continue walking around the room, observing the action and quiet murmur. A soft buzzer sounds and we look up as a courier enters the room. He too is wearing a unit ID and crest. He takes the information he brought directly over to our intelligence group and Captain ‘Benny’ signs for it, then opens the envelope.

A few moments later he’s busy with two others, showing them the material and they’e searching the table for other papers. A short discussion occurs and he calls Karen over to look at the data. This continues until she calls for me. I excuse myself from the Generals for a few minutes and go to see what we’ve got. More reports and photos.

I’m beginning to hate these things because I can’t see a thing in them, but when we give them to Whizz, she takes one look and says something like, “Oh yeah. So there they are, right there.” I’ll look again and all I see are trees.

The photo analysis and photos all go to Whizz’s department so they can put in their two cents. I have come to the conclusion that there’s no one as good as she is at this. They can blow up the photos so far that all I see are blurs and she still spots the stuff. It’s got to be some sort of x-ray vision, like Superman. The stuff just pops out at her. Anyway, her group is happy that they have new photos to examine.

We’re looking at thirty-five minutes from the General’s request when our Cryptography group sends their encoded version of the message, along with the original message the General handed to them, over to us. The General pulls yet another paper from his pocket and compares it with the one he just received from our people. I glance over his shoulder and they look the same to me.

Apparently they look the same to him too.

“George, you’re not going to believe this. They did it.” he checks his watch, “They did it in thirty-eight minutes with no warning. How did you ever put together a team like this?”

General George says, “Actually, Bill, I authorized Lucy here to put it together, and she felt the school was the best place to start. We held back two classes of intelligence trained personnel and then she gave them her crash course for four weeks before we turned them loose on some real stuff out of Nam. It was basically an experiment that just kept growing. She has a few ideas that she would like to implement still, but we’re running out of time, as she has a very important assignment waiting for her in Nam, one which I’m afraid won’t wait much longer. What’s on your mind?”

“This unit is on my mind. I want it. When you are finished with it, I want it.”

“So long as the acting officers are given full rank and grade, and the unit isn’t broken up, I think that might be worked out. I’ll talk with Lucy and the other officer’s and see how it goes. I’ll get back to you…, say by Friday morning?”

“That won’t work for me. How about Thursday afternoon or Monday morning?”

“Monday then, Thursday I have too many meetings scheduled.”

“Thanks, George. Thanks a lot. And thank you too, Colonel. You put together quite a little team here. It’s something which we may expand a bit and really start to give the world a run for their money.”

“Thank you, Sir!” I know when to smile and agree at least.

We are walking out together and, as we pass the recommendations group, we hear in passing, “Chance, what do you have to say about this?”

We’re through the door and are now in the hall, where our MPs wait to collect their ‘Visitor’s badges.’

“Chance?” the strange General says. “That’s a strange name.”

“It’s a nickname, Sir. Captain William Carter’s nickname is Chance. He’s our devil’s advocate and psychology major. Chance refers to the random factor.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “Interesting group of people. Random factor…. Has Chance helped the results?”

“Oh, yes, Sir. Both he and Skirmish work well together. Captain Donald ‘Skirmish’ McIntosh is our tactical department lead.”

He shakes his head again. “You have an unusual group, producing unusual and accurate results.”

“Yes, Sir, and they’d probably follow Spooky into Hell if they had to.”

“Spooky? Now who’s that?”

“Sorry, Sir. Major Karen Delheim, Sir”

“Do you have a nickname too, Colonel?”

I hang my head just a little answering quietly, “Yes, Sir. Magician, Sir.”

“Magician? As in pulling answers out of a hat?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He shakes his head again and the generals turn to leave, but the MP, who’s been waiting patiently, reminds them to leave their visitors badges before they walk away.

I turn around and walk back into the thick of things.

I’m looking around at our little room full of people, all of them busy, wondering if I was hit by a streetcar and am imagining all this, about to wake up in some hospital somewhere.

Karen turns to me and asks, “What was all that about, Ma’am?”

“Karen, right now I’m not certain. I think you all were just ‘volunteered’ to stay as you are, but probably somewhere else. The only thing I know for certain is that I heard them saying all the acting officers were going to be promoted to full officer status, and if I have my way, all those who remain as enlisted will gain two steps in rank and grade. Don’t pack yet, but I think they’re going to move you all as a unit to some other location.”

“I’m going to be a Major?”

Her eyes were wide open.

“I can’t guarantee that but, if you’re going to be in command, the worst you could come out with would be Captain and all the acting Captains would become Lieutenants. We’ll see, probably by Monday. How are the reports doing?”

“Pretty good, the big puzzle is the photos we received, but Donna’s team is only about a third of the way into each one. It’s slow going and she’s complaining about the trees.”

“Good. At least this time she didn’t just walk up and say….”

Just then, Donna walked up and waved a photo under our noses, “There they are, right there.”

“Never mind,” I sighed.

“I found them,” Donna said happily. “Betty, look over in quadrant six for yours, they’ve altered their method of hiding them under trees. Sneaky.”

“YES!” Betty exclaimed. “There they are.”

“Whizz?” I said.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Spot all you can, as quickly as possible, and then prepare a flash for Saigon. Give them the photo numbers and the information they’ll need in order to spot the sites and, if you can, do a count for each. Take a good look because, as I recall, when they alter their methods, they also mirror and have twice as many SAMs as usual.”

She jumps back to her scope and starts looking again. A couple of minutes later I hear her saying, “Sneaky bastards.”

I look at her with a raised eyebrow and Betty gently digs her in the ribs.

“What?”

Betty whispers in her ear and Whizz turns and looks at me, “Oh! Sorry.” then she turns back to count the total number of SAMs she’s discovered. Now aware of what she’s looking for, she finishes the photo and finds a third group, making a total of twenty-seven six missile launchers in a small concentrated area.

Whizz chews on that for a minute. “They couldn’t fire from under the trees so they must back out and fire, then move under cover again. That means that guidance control is coming from somewhere else. Look around, Betty, and we’ll see if we can find it.”

They finally discover the radar site about five klicks away from the launchers, and it’s surrounded by its own protective ring of SAMs, all heavily camouflaged. Something big is going on there, but now we can notify Command, so possibly the sites can be taken out, including whatever they’re protecting.

“That’s nasty, Ma’am. Real nasty. They’re doing something big right there. But all we can find is one truck. We provided that information too.”

Our discovery is Flashed back to Saigon.

-o~O~o-

The little team is getting better at their work and they’re now a tightly knit unit.

Friday, they’re working, and I’m in my room at the BOQ packing, after getting back from the hospital, where my two doctors have completed a careful examination of me and released me for full duty.

Somehow light duty and full duty seem about the same to me, of course that may just be me.

I finish my packing and decide to visit the lab, where I’ll return my unit patch and ID to the MPs. On Saturday morning, I’ll be out of here. My call for General George is finally returned and we speak for nearly twenty minutes concerning everyone and their increases in rank and bequeathment of full officer status to those who are leading the rest. He’s in full agreement with me, mostly because he can force the promotions out of the other general’s allotments without impacting his own too badly. I tell him that I’d like to see it happen, but understand that I’ll probably have to leave before it does. We continue to chat and I tell him I’m going up to say goodbye before they all vanish for supper. I thank him for his support and tell him that I enjoyed the diversion he created for me. Finally, I can’t think of anything else to say, thank him again, and hang up.

Checking the time, 1630, I hurry up to the school to try to catch everyone before they leave. I must be in better shape than I thought, because I manage to make it on time and I’m not even breathing hard. I nod to the Mps and use my ID to open the door, walking in to see them all still working feverishly. I go over to Karen and wait for her to finish whatever she and two of her Captains are working on, then talk with her for a minute.

“What are all of you going to do for the weekend?”

“Tomorrow, we’ll be here. There are some additional problems which need to be ironed out, so Saigon is sending us new data to look at before we shut down.

We’re doing pretty good now. Getting faster every day. We had a new message come in for the crypto boys too. They looked at it and had it broken out in about an hour. It looks like gibberish but they say it’s a double encoded message or some such thing. They’re working on the second break now. I’ve never seen them happier.”

I think about that and almost laugh. “I understand. When we received that first message and brought them on board, you would’ve thought we’d just given them a new toy to play with. Maybe we did.”

I hear another round of confusion at the door.

“Are the students still trying to get in here?” I ask.

“Sometimes. Usually they leave right away, though. I’d better check.”

I follow her out and we find General George blustering at the MPs.

“Lucy, tell them I can go in there.”

“Yes, Sir. Give the General a visitor’s badge and let him in, boys. He’s tame.”

They smile and hand him a badge. We turn and unlock the door, letting him in, then follow.

He goes up to the head of the room and sets down his briefcase, then rummages in it and pulls out a stack of papers.

Always respectful of the chain of command, he says, “Lucy, may I take fifteen or twenty minutes of everyone’s time?”

Equally punctilious, I say, “Major, are they doing well enough that we can afford a short break?”

“Yes, Ma’am. All right, everyone. Eyes front. Put that stuff down for a few minutes.”

I turn to my General. “The floor is yours, Sir.”

He thanks us and proceeds to thank the unit, then asks that each person come up and receive their new orders when he calls their name. He begins calling out the names which he reads from each sheet until finally everyone on the floor except the officers has received a piece of paper and is now looking at it, some with eyes widened in surprise.

“The papers I just handed out are orders giving each of you a two step increase in rank and grade. You are remaining with this unit but the entire unit will be transferred to DC late next week. Now I have some more orders.”

“Lucy, would you care to do the honors? Tell you what, I’ll call it out and you pin it on. Here take these.”

He hands me a box full of insignia. The first name he reads is Karen’s. She is given full Major’s rank and grade effective today. As he reads the paper, I pin her gold oak leaves on and salute her. She salutes back and we both smile.

Next he reads seven names for our seven Captains and we pin railroad tracks (a Captain's insignia, two bars, joined by two thin strips between them, which look something like railroad tracks) on each of them. They receive copies of their orders and our eight new officers are told to go draw new uniforms Monday morning.

The general and I applaud them all. I say my good-byes to my little unit, then he and I go out into the hallway where I break into tears. It takes me several minutes to get myself under control again and then I pull off my crest and ID and am about to hand them to the MP when General George asks me what I think I’m doing? I explain that I leave tomorrow for Vietnam and the unit won’t be here by the time I return so I’m turning in my ID and crest.

“You don’t get off that easily, Lucy. You created this unit and you’re listed as its advisor. The orders I have here indicate that regardless of any other assignments, you’re subject to call as advisor to this unit for however long it exists, even if its name and designator are changed. You are required to maintain no less than a monthly check-in as to your location and status, subject to recall as advisor. You couldn’t possibly think I’d let someone like you get away with creating something like this and then just walk away, did you?”

I latch onto him and give him a tight hug and kiss his cheek. Then I have another good cry.

Finally, I’m able to talk, “Thank you, Sir. Do they know?”

“Well, if that new Major can read, then yes, they know.”

I calm down and salute the four MPs, thanking them for watching over my unit.

They salute back, smiling, and General George guides me down the hall. The walking must be helping, because by the time we make it to the door, I’ve stopped crying. He gets into his car and asks if he may drop me off anywhere. I say, “Thanks, but no,” and walk back to the BOQ to wait for supper. I’m still holding my crest and ID so I put them back on my uniform. They mean more than an Award for Valor to me.

The Rangers have their distinctive beret, but we have our crests and ID. We may not be a combat unit, but we contribute in our own special way. A little before 1800, I hear running feet and my door nearly explodes with pounding on it. I open the door and the girls who are newly promoted officers are there. Karen grabs me in a hug and shows me on her orders where it states that I’m the permanent advisor to the unit.

“You’d better keep in touch or we’ll all track you down, Lucy. Don’t you ever lose that crest and ID.”

I answer her with, “Let me know where you all end up, okay? You can leave a message for me at General Pendleton’s offices. Girls, I feel like celebrating. Have you had supper yet?”

They hadn’t so I say, “You’re officers and ladies now. Let’s go eat. Then you can tell me if the enlisted mess is as good as the Officer’s mess. That’s something I’ve wondered about since I got here twelve weeks ago.”

We all traipse out and find our way to the Officer’s mess. It is a joyous occasion and the five of us have a great time.

Karen leans close and quietly says, “I’ve been thinking about that story you told me just before we brought Whizz into the group. I’m glad you found your way to teach us.”

I look at her and wonder if she means that she understands. She looks at me and her eyes say, ‘Welcome to the club.’ I start crying again. Not a lot, but enough that tears roll down my face. I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze of thanks.

We finish supper and they have a little more work to do so they rush off back to the group, and I take a walk, looking around at the buildings and people and thinking about how very much I’ll miss them all, and how real everything seems, even though my time here has been very short, at least compared to the rest of my military career.

Oh, according to them, the enlisted Mess is better.

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To Be Continued...       © 2008, 2009 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.